Saving Miles
by The Sequestered Princess
Summary: Some things haunt us when we least expect them to do so, and Edgeworth's past is no exception. The question is, can he cope with all the pain those memories cause? Ties in to my main fic, 3 Wrights and an Edgeworth.


Hey, it's Hanna, just dropping by to remind you all that I don't own Miles. Sadly.

* * *

He's doing it again. Just... Sitting there. At his desk. In the glow of a single lamp. "Do you want some tea?" Nothing. "Do you want me to turn more lights on ?" No answer. I don't think he'd even hear me if I told him the building was on fire. He's so... silent. It's not his normal silence, either. I can usually get him to discuss something, with enough prodding. But tonight? It's like... he's not really here, and it's getting late. I'm worried about leaving him like this -what time is it, anyway? I can see the hands on his clock... And his calendar... And suddenly, I know why he's like this - it's the anniversary of that day. I lean against his desk. **"Do you want to talk about it?"**

_You're too important for anyone.  
You play the role of all you long to be,  
But I, I know who you really are...  
You're the one who cries when you're alone._

**"Do you want to talk about it?"** Her voice cuts through the memories, bringing me back to the present. I look around - she's leaning on my desk again - One of many abnoxious habits she shares with her brother, Phoenix Wright. "Well, do you?" she inquires as she picks up a pile of file folders and start organizing them. I can't bring myself to speak. The thoughts and memories are right there, right under the surface. I'm...afraid...that if I start to share them, I'll relive them again. **"I'd rather not."**_**  
**_

_But where will you go?  
With no one left to save you from yourself...  
You can't escape...  
You can't escape._

**"I'd rather not."** He says, straighting his cravat. He's aware of the fact that I know about what happened - I was often entertained with stories of the childhood adventures of my brother Nick and his best friends, Larry and Miles. My baby book was filled with pictures of him - 'Miles with baby Natalie' or 'Baby Natalie with Miles'... I was four when he left - The three musketeers suddenly became a duo. And then, after I had all but forgotten about Miles Edgeworth, Phoenix found him again. But he wasn't what Nick had thought he would be. The little boy who was once determined to follow in his Defense Attorney father's footprints was now know as "The Demon Prosecutor." Nick was shocked... But I had some insight. I'm a detective, first and foremost, but I've always dabbled in psychology. Miles' status as a "Demon Prosecutor" was a shield, built to protect an innocent, broken little boy. I finish organizing the case files on his desk and move to another stack, touching his shoulder lightly as I do so. His body jerks upright, as if an electric current has gone through him. **"You're not alone, you know."**

_You think that I can't see right through your eyes?  
Scared to death to face reality...  
No one seems to hear your hidden cries...  
You're left to face yourself alone._

**"You're not alone, you know." **She says as she touches my shoulder, causing sparks to shoot through me. Damn. I know that I'm not alone - but I want to be. I'm sick of all of these people pretending that they understand me, that they care... But they just want to hear about it again. They think it's just a story - "How Manfred Von Karma got his" is what one of the papers had the audacity to call it. They don't care that I was the child who was orphaned that day, or that I was 'taken in' by the very man who murdered my father. Every time anyone asks about it, I change the subject. Why? Because I don't want to talk about it, I just want to let it go. I want to bury the past. I want to forget, but my mind just keeps playing the memories over and over again. It's like an itch that you can't stop trying to allieviate. I can't leave it alone - I still feel as if I'm in that elevator...in the hospital... At his funeral... On my way to a new, strange home... All the memories spinning madly like a carousel from hell - blinding me, suffocating me... I can't escape them... I can't... Escape... **"I..."**

_But where will you go? (where will you go)  
With no one left to save you from yourself...  
You can't escape,  
The truth...  
I realize you're afraid. (I realize)  
But you can't abandon everyone...  
You can't escape...  
You don't want to escape._

**"I..."** He whispers, his eyes staring into nothing. I stop sorting and walk over to him. I squat down next to his chair, turning it slightly. I look up into his eyes - Liquid brown, like milky hot chocolate, curled up in front of a fire - and see tears. I offer him a tissue, but he doesn't notice. An ironic thought occurs to me: does he ever notice? Does he ever really notice that I want to help him? I'm not asking him to tell me about the past - I'm asking him to tell me about how he feels. About himself. And then, a new thought enters my mind. Who is Miles Edgeworth? He's an accomplished prosecutor, for one thing. He's a stickler for routine, doesn't mind the sight of blood (or dead bodies, for that matter) can't stand country music or rap, plays the piano really well, enjoys a well-brewed cup of tea, likes eating snails and other weird foods (like that time he had me try foie gras, and then, after I'd eaten it, he told me it was goose liver pate. Urgggh...) But that's stuff you can find out about him online. (except for the foie gras part.) Who is he really? I realize now that I don't know him at all. I doubt anyone does. **"I'm here, Edgeworth. I'm right here. I'm here for you, if you want to talk to me, or if you don't. Just... don't keep it all in, okay? Because I'm listening."**

_I'm so sick of speaking words that no one understands.  
Is it clear enough that you can't live your whole life all alone?  
I can hear you when you whisper,  
But you can't even hear me screaming!_

Nothing. No response. I touch him again - he doesn't move. He's stuck inside his head, and I can't help him. **"Mr. Edgeworth...?" **His eyes are completely blank. He's staring at nothing, and yet, I have a feeling he's seeing everything. Everything that happened that day, I mean. Suddenly, his face is full of panic. He cries out, falling to the floor. **"Miles!"** He jerks, but not at the sound of my voice. His eyes flick between the couch and the window, but instead of his office he's seeing an elevator with two men - a baliff by the name of Yanni Yogi, and his own father, Gregory Edgeworth. He's not Miles Edgeworth - Demon Prosecutor anymore. At the moment, he's just Miles - a little boy who is trapped in an elevator with his father, and a stranger. He will be trapped in that elevator for hours, breathing stale oxygen, until a fight breaks out between attorney and guard. He will watch, helplessly, as the guard pulls his gun and aims it at Gregory. The boy will react, using what little energy is left in his oxygen starved body by throwing himself at the gun. His last concious memory is of a shot and a scream. I know the story, but now I'm seeing it through the eyes of the victim - and it's terrifying. I reach over to him and place his head in my lap. I stroke his hair - the colour of frost on a window in the evening. He starts to sob, and I realize that I won't be going home tonight. I'm not leaving him alone. Even if it doesn't change him in the least. Even if he hates me for it tomorrow. He needs me to be here now. I stretch out on his floor, putting his head against my chest. He responds -surprisingly- by moving closer to me.

_Where will you go? (where will you go)  
With no one left to save you from yourself!  
You can't escape,  
The truth!  
I realize you're afraid! (I realize)  
But you can't reject the whole world!  
You can't escape.  
You won't escape.  
You can't escape.  
You don't want to escape._

Several hours have passed. I'll admit I slept through some of them, but not many. It's hard to sleep when a man is sobbing against your chest. I'm stroking his hair again, and every once in a while I find myself humming to him. His tears have stained my shirt, but I don't care. He moves again, reaching for my hand. I stop stroking his head and offer it to him. He accepts it. He's quieted down, I realize. He takes a few deep, shuddery breaths. Now we're laying on the floor of his office in silence. After several long minutes I note our closeness and wonder, idly, how long it's been since he's been this close to another human being. As if sensing my line of thinking, he pulls his head back slightly. The boy Miles has faded, and the prosecutor has begun to reamerge. His eyes widen as he becomes aware of his surroundings - and how close we are, at the moment. He drops my hand and sits up quickly, a rather impressive movement considering the fact that he'd been laying down for over eight hours... His face is full of confilcting emotions, but he stills them in an instant. He stands, then, and looks at the clock. He looks himself over in the mirror, shakes his head, and opens a slim coat closet. He pulls out a suit -a fact that really shouldn't have surprised me- and finally acknowledges my presence. **"You should have enough time to go home and change before we have to be in court." **His manner is brisk, as if nothing happened. But his eyes are telling a different story... I stand, brushing myself off. I turn and open the door, but stop when I hear him clear his throat. I look at him and he suddenly becomes very interested in removing his wrinkled, tear stained cravat. I stand in front of the door, waiting for him to speak. He takes a deep breath, as if steeling his nerves. He looks into my eyes. He clears his throat once again... And sighs. I know what he's trying to say, and I can't help but smile. There is a tiny part of that stubborn little boy that Phoenix remembers in this man, after all. **"You're welcome, Miles."**

And then, like a little miracle, he smiles back.


End file.
